


Please Don't Let Me be Misunderstood

by papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under normal circumstance, say a bar or party, Michael would almost certainly have asked his name, bought him a drink, maybe even sucked up his courage and asked for the guy’s number.</p><p>But this… wasn’t a normal circumstance. The guy was a… a… well, whatever they liked to be called now. He couldn’t just saunter up and ask him up for a coffee, could he. The guy was working. Would he be charged for it, for his time?</p><p>Michael wondered, just for a moment, how much cash he had in his wallet —</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Don't Let Me be Misunderstood

That guy was back again, lounging nonchalantly against the brick with both hands deep in the pockets of his bottle-green trenchcoat. Head tipped back, eyes shut to the world. It was cold that evening; billows of crystalline air rose in iced clouds from his parted lips, and even from this distance, Michael could see they were ridiculously red. The wind? Or the fact he kept _licking_ at them like that.

Michael watched through cracks in horizontal blinds, strips of illuminated light falling in shadowed hatches across his face. His low sigh fogged the glass, smudging the electric-orange glow of the streetlamp the guy stood beneath.

Maybe he should ask him in, offer him a drink. Coffee, tea. Hot chocolate, if he had any rattling around in his cupboard. Anything that would warm him up a bit, he must be freezing -

It was the fifth day in a row he’d seen the guy from his living room window, always the same time every night, reclining against that same wall. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing; Michael had seen the type often enough. A new car stopping to pick the guy up each night, swinging into the passenger seat with the elegance of a dancer. Michael wondered if he used his own name, or gave a fake one. How old he was. If he had a place to go to after everything was… over.

He was damn pretty, that was for sure. Deep brown hair that shone with hints of red like the crackling leaves of Autumn; pale skin and elfin features; the brightest pair of azure blue eyes he’d ever seen, though he’d caught only a glimpse when walking past him that very first night.

Under normal circumstance, say a bar or party, the Irishman would almost certainly have asked his name, bought him a drink, maybe even sucked up his courage and asked for the guy’s number.

But this… wasn’t a normal circumstance. The guy was a… a… well, whatever they liked to be called now. He couldn’t just saunter up and ask him up for a coffee, could he. The guy was working. Would he be charged for it, for his time? Michael wondered, just for a moment, how much cash he had in his wallet —

Before he got a chance to decide, a car pulled up by the side of the road, headlights cutting through through the fading light. A sleek red Audi tonight; definitely someone loaded, then. The cars were always expensive ones, which didn’t surprise him too much.

The guy bent down to talk briefly to the driver, before grinning and jogging around to the passenger side. Michael tried hard to pretend he didn’t notice the curve of the man’s back, the delicate taper to his waist where the trench’s belt pulled tight.

Swallowing hard, Michael let the blinds fall back into place, shaking his head at himself. He was being ridiculous even thinking about doing something as stupid as casually asking a prostitute inside his home for an innocent nightcap. Even one as pretty as him.

The next morning brought frost and the heavy threat of snow, turning the fattening clouds overhead a wash of gray and blue and off-white. Michael chewed his lip all through his afternoon meetings, worrying chapped flesh between his teeth over the piles of paperwork and emails he barely paid attention to.

His mind, annoyingly, was elsewhere. _Pale skin so cold in the gently falling snow, blinking away flakes that landed on long black lashes. Waiting for the heated touch of a stranger to thaw the ice settling upon his cheeks._

Michael chain-smoked religiously as he waited by the window that night, perched on the arm of his couch still in the rumpled suit he’d worn for work. The guy wasn’t there, not yet. Maybe it was too cold for him. Or had Michael missed him already… an early customer snatching him away.

It wasn’t until Michael returned from the kitchen with an iced glass of brandy that he saw that familiar green flash. Micheal’s heart flipped, the glass nearly slipping from his hand. Two fingers slid between the blinds, lifting them higher.

The guy was shivering, fucking _shivering_. Dragon breath coming in deep puffs, chin dipping beneath the high collar of the trench. The poor thing looked half frozen to death, hopping lightly on the spot from foot to foot.

Gulping the brandy in one resolute swig, Michael stood up.

Sat back down.

Up again.

Slapped his face a few times.

He could do this. A simple request, that’s all it was. The worst the guy could do was say no, after all. It wasn’t like he’d kick Michael in the balls just for being polite.

Not even bothering to shrug into a coat, Michael took the stairs from his second floor apartment, hopping down them three at a time, Italian heels clicking on stone. He slowed when he reached the street, startled at the sudden punch of cold air. It was friggin’ Baltic out here. That Good Samaritan side of Michael gave an important huff, shoving away the slightly lusty devil on his shoulder.

The guy didn’t turn to look at him as he approached, seemingly lost in his own imagination as he gazed down the empty street. Wrapping his arms around himself to shield against the cold, Michael cleared his throat, “Excuse me,”

Blue eyes turned to him, cool yet unguarded, “Can I help you?”

 _Scottish._

“Um, well, sort of, maybe,” Michael shrugged, hugging himself tighter and suddenly feeling a complete idiot, “I was wondering, if it’s ok with you, if you might want to come for a drink. Inside. Y’know, where it’s warm.”

Amusement in the curl of those ruby lips; the guy tipped his head with a quirked eyebrow, “…What?”

“I know it’s probably not something you’re used to being asked,” Michael added quickly, feeling heat creep up his neck to stain his cheeks, “Quite a tame request, I guess. Just a drink, that’s it, and you can even charge me if you want. You look cold, is all,”

The guy stared at him, mouth slightly agape, “I don’t think I understand you. Request? _Charge_ you? What… what do you think I am?”

Michael blanched, panic tearing at his heart. _Shit_. He took a step back, mortified with himself and inwardly calculating how quickly it would take him to get back inside and drown himself in the bath. _Shitshitshit_. How could he make such a mistake, a mistake to end all fucking mistakes —

The guy burst into sudden peals of laughter, giggling so hard he was near doubling over.

Michael blinked in shock, waiting for the punch to strike him, the hysterical screaming to start.

“Oh god, remind me never to wait on street corners ever again. Is it the coat? It’s the coat, isn’t it?”

“Um,” Forcing his tongue to untie, Michael shook his head, “No, the coat is fine. I just, you know, saw you waiting out here for the last week and well… it kind of looked like you were… _waiting_. I dunno.”

“I’m waiting for my sister. She picks me up here after she finishes work,” The guy wiped away a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, lips still stretched in a wide smile, “I can kind of see where you’d coming from… I guess the cars looked suspicious, huh? She’s a car saleswoman, brings home new models to test,”

Michael started laughing. He couldn’t help it; the situation, the embarrassment and misunderstanding, “I am so, so sorry. You must think I’m such a creeper,”

“Well it does make me feel a bit strange knowing I’ve been watched from a window this last week. But y’know… it’s quite sweet that you were concerned for my health,” the guy flicked sparkling eyes over Michael’s tall frame before holding out a hand that was slightly pink from the cold, “James.”

A shake, Michael’s palm much warmer than James’ chilled skin, “Michael.”

“You know, it _is_ cold out here and my sister’s already phoned to say she’d be late. Maybe I’ll take you up on that drink,” James’ smile widened, a shiver running the length of Michael’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold, “Wouldn’t want me freezing out here while I ‘wait for customers’, right?”

Michael narrowed his eyes in mock exasperation, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily, “Sure. I’m just across the street.”

James pushed himself away from the wall, bumping Michael’s shoulder mischievously, “10 bucks an hour.”


End file.
